The Game
by JenF
Summary: Not every night out turns into a brawl.  Just a little fluff because I haven't done anything for a while.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Winchester family, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

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><p>Dean was relaxed. Sam could see it in his stance, in his face and in his gestures. He suspected the game had stopped being about money some time ago. The sound of laughter, genuine laughter, floated across from the pool table and, glancing up, Sam wondered when he last heard that sound from his brother.<p>

Sipping his beer, he took the time to scrutinise Dean's opponent and the small crowd that had gathered round to watch the game. The man with the cue in his hand was stocky but shorter than Dean, with close cut hair and a weather beaten face. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and Sam noticed he did that a lot. He could have been thirty or fifty.

The crowd was clearly on his side, cheering enthusiastically every time he sunk a ball, laughing at his antics when he twirled his cue above his head like a cheerleader's baton. He leaned over to steal a kiss from a girl Sam couldn't see the front of, and turned to face Dean.

Dean shrugged casually and stepped back, lifting his beer to his lips as he melted into the crowd to enjoy the show as his companion proceeded to clear the table. Sam wondered how much money Dean had riding on the game as his brother good naturedly handed over a wad of bills. A brief conversation followed, ending with a slap on the back for Dean and a dramatic bow to the onlookers, a ripple of amusement passing through the crowd.

Setting his own beer down on the bar, Sam slid off the stool just as Dean slammed his own, empty, bottle alongside Sam's. He waggled his eyebrow at the bar tender, attracting his attention instantly.

"You're having another?" Sam couldn't help himself. He hadn't been counting but he was pretty sure Dean was close to his limit. Maybe that explained the looseness of the body next to him and the sloppy grin Dean turned on him.

"Yeah." Dean sounded surprised, then apologetic. "D'you want one? It's just that you normally…" and he trailed off, waving one hand around aimlessly in a gesture only he understood.

Sam sighed. "No, dude. I don't. And frankly, I don't think you do either."

"You mothering me, Sammy?"

"No, Dean. But we've got work to do, y'know? The whole saving you from hell business? We might just have the answer here and you really want to screw it up because you're drunk?"

For a moment, Sam wondered if he'd gone too far. Dean was enjoying a rare night out, the repercussions of his deal far from his mind and Sam had just gone and ruined it all. But then Dean cocked his head to one side and turned his mouth up at one corner in a parody of a smile.

"I don't get drunk, Sammy," he slurred, nodding at the barkeep who had just replaced his beer bottle. Raising the fresh beer in a toast he fixed his eye on Sam. "I have you to keep me on the straight and narrow. And it's not like I've only got three months left or anything."

And once again, in a few simple words Dean had managed to make Sam feel about two inches high. Yes, he knew the stresses Dean's deal was putting him under and he felt the guilt, a crushing weight upon his shoulders 24/7. He dipped his head and settled himself back on the stool he had just vacated.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, not entirely sure what he was apologising for.

"Apology accepted," Dean chirped brightly, setting his bottle down on the bar. "How about some darts?" he suggested, indicating the game in progress in the darkest corner of the bar.

By the time Sam finally got Dean out of the bar, they were miraculously two hundred dollars up and Dean was still, just, upright. All in all, Sam mused, the evening had gone well. Dean was chilled and just this side of conscious. Nobody had got hurt and nobody had been fleeced too badly. The night had ended with the same good humour it had begun with and now, with Dean fighting to keep his eyes open, Sam could finally let his guard down.

Pouring his brother into the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam smiled benevolently at the older hunter as his eyes finally slid shut, accompanied by a contented sigh.

"You know, Sammy," he slurred, "that was a good night." He paused and just as Sam began to think he was asleep he smiled lopsidedly. "We should do it again."


End file.
